


Limelight

by AnxietyAvocado



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, honestly i don't even know you guys blame discord
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnxietyAvocado/pseuds/AnxietyAvocado
Summary: At nine years old, Yuuri Katsuki fell in love with James Dean.Yuuri kept skating with the encouragement of Minako-sensei and his sister, but realized that just because he was a skater didn’t mean he couldn’t act. Being a character on the ice was just acting. Pretending that he didn’t want to cry when Nishigori pushed him on the ice was just acting.Pretending that the reporters didn’t make him want to hide in a bathroom stall and puke his feelings was just acting.It also, inadvertently, resulted in Yuuri becoming known as the terrifying, leather jacket wearing, rock music skating, never talking to reporters or anyone else, motorcycle riding badass.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri & Katsuki Yuuri's Family, Katsuki Yuuri & Yuri Plisetsky, Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin & Yuri Plisetsky, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Victor Nikiforov & Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 20
Kudos: 314
Collections: A Shot of Viktuuri, Yuuri and Vitya (and Co.)





	Limelight

**Author's Note:**

> i definitely, entirely, blame the yoi 18+ discord for getting me to write this, and thank quagmiremarch and solnyshko_uk because without them i would not have written this in two days flat. 
> 
> no betas because... well, just because

At nine years old, Yuuri Katsuki fell in love with James Dean. 

Well, sort of. Mostly in the “you’re so cool and you look so intimidating and you act like my sister but it isn’t annoying when you do it” because Mari was always brooding and smoking when she thought her parents couldn’t see. And also in the “your hair looks really nice” way. 

This resulted in a few things. 

First, Mari started quoting (badly, and in stilted English) James Dean movies at Yuuri whenever she could. Second, Yuuri started wearing leather jackets like the actor. And thirdly, Yuuri decided he was going to act when he grew up. 

That last one didn’t really work out the way he had hoped. Yuuri kept skating with the encouragement of Minako-sensei and his sister, but realized that just because he was a skater didn’t mean he couldn’t act. Being a character on the ice was just acting. Pretending that he didn’t want to cry when Nishigori pushed him on the ice was just acting. 

Pretending that the reporters didn’t make him want to hide in a bathroom stall and puke his feelings was just acting. 

It also, inadvertently, resulted in Yuuri becoming known as the terrifying, leather jacket wearing, rock music skating, never talking to reporters or anyone else, motorcycle riding badass. 

* * *

The first day that Phichit moved in to the apartment and saw Yuuri’s room covered in Viktor Nikiforov posters, his stack of Ouran High School Host Club manga, Full Metal Alchemist figurines, a whole lot of Pocky, a pile of poodle plushies on the bed, and a Sailor Moon wand ( _thanks,_ Mari) he laughed his ass off, and asked if he really was Katsuki Yuuri, the figure skater, and not some awkward cousin. 

To be fair, he had stuffed the stack of rock music CDs behind his laptop, and his jacket and motorcycle helmet were in the hall closet. 

“I have an explanation for everything,” he huffed, adjusting his glasses (which really didn’t help the “cool guy” facade). 

Phichit grabbed a plushie and hugged it while falling back on the pile of other brown stuffed poodles. “Alright, let’s hear it Mr. Scary Face.”

Yuuri sighed. “I hate wearing my contacts at the rink so I usually just wear them for driving there - I can’t wear my glasses with my helmet. And then I squint a lot either because the contacts bother me or I’m not wearing them at all. You can’t skate with glasses on you know!”

His new roommate made a ‘go on’ gesture. 

“Motorcycles are more cost effective than cars in both insurance and gas,” he continued. “I don’t like… people. If you’re going to live here, you should know that. I get really stressed and anxious. I do like rock music though. The manga is from my old friend Yuuko, Mari got me the wand because it looked like…” he trailed off before barely, _barely_ mumbling the words “a dildo” and followed up with a loud “because she’s a mean, horrible older sister who likes to torture me! And Fullmetal Alchemist is one of the best series in history. And I love Pocky. And I get poodles thrown on the ice at basically every competition.”

He was pretty sure his skin was melting off from how hot his face felt by the time he finished. 

Phichit looked around one more time and raised an eyebrow. “And I’m guessing they’re poodles because you’re harboring some super secret love for Viktor Nikiforov and want to have his babies.”

“What? No! That- it- _no!_ It’s not like that! He’s a great skater,” Yuuri sputtered and babbled. “He’s the greatest skater of our generation and his programs are so beautiful they can make grown men cry and his understanding of musi-”

The plushie poodle flying at his face cut him off. 

“I get it,” the other man laughed. “You like the guy. It’s fine, Yuuri! I’m just surprised is all. You seem really grumpy when you’re out in public. Which is, like, never by the way! Why aren’t you on social media or anything?”

Yuuri sighed. This was going to be a really long day, trying to explain his weird antisocial tendencies to his new roommate. 

* * *

Yuuri drew Skate America as his first competition of the Grand Prix series - probably because it was in Detroit and, for once, the JSF had taken pity on him and petitioned to get him a spot closer to home. This would probably come back and bite him in the ass at NHK, but Yuuri wasn’t going to look the gift horse in the mouth just yet. 

Because he didn’t have to stay in a hotel, but because he still had _obligations_ and _meetings_ and _socializing_ to do, he decided to stop at the hotel for breakfast with Michele and Sara before the optional open practice in the morning, and spent a pleasant hour with them in a corner of the hotel restaurant, sinking lower into his seat with each increase in noise level from the siblings, trying desperately to avoid attention. 

When it appeared that most of the skaters had left to get on the shuttle to the stadium, Yuuri snaked his way through the crowds with his head down and started his bike, the engine drowning out the lingering anxious thoughts that had followed him out of the apartment. With his gloves and helmet on, it was like the camera rolling on a soundstage. He wasn’t Yuuri Katsuki, an anxious mess who co-parented three ridiculous hamsters with his roommate. He was Katsuki Yuuri, figure skating badass and generally unapproachable human being. It was… nice. Settling. Grounding. 

Grounding enough that when he was idling in front of the hotel and Viktor Nikiforov stumbled out the door looking for all the world like he had just woken up, Yuuri shouted, “Need a ride?”

The Russian looked mutely between Yuuri and the motorcycle several times before nodding and clambering onto the rear seat. 

“Hold tight!”

In any other world Yuuri would have: a) never opened his mouth, b) never approached Viktor Nikiforov of his own free will, and c) never have put the bike in gear and taken off _quite_ as fast as he did in order to make Viktor grab on to his waist a little tighter. But he was in this world, so he did all of those things and hid a smile behind the visor of his helmet as they sped the short distance to the arena. 

It wasn’t long before the engine roar was dulled to a low rumble in front of the arena complex where Viktor climbed shakily off. They had made good time, between lane splitting and the fact that they weren’t a bus, and the second shuttle pulled up behind them. The bus idled, not letting air out of its tires, which Yuuri took as a cue to move so he did, speeding off to find a parking spot where he could avoid any scratches or dings to the bike. 

Christophe - who, Viktor had noted, did _not_ wake him up at the agreed time this morning - ambled down the stairs of the shuttle and stood behind Viktor, passing a coffee over his shoulder. More skaters poured from the vehicle, ignoring the notably eccentric Russian and his Swiss friend. 

“Who was that, _mon cher?”_ Christophe asked knowingly. 

Viktor accepted the coffee and took a sip, hardly noticing that he burned his tongue as he did so. “I have no idea,” he replied breathlessly. 

Yuri Plisetsky, who had walked up behind them, snorted in disgust. 

“Of course you senile asshats don’t know who that is. Serves you right,” he said before turning on his heel to enter the building. 

Viktor whirled around. “Yura? Yura! Yuratchka, my dearest, darling, wonderful rinkmate of mine! Who was that? Do you know him? Who is my knight on shining motorcycle? Yura?,” he called. “Yura! You’re being rude, you know!”

Christophe chuckled and reached for his phone, taking a picture of the retreating Russians, Viktor reaching out to Yura who had thrown his hands in the air in frustration and was flipping Viktor off. This was a scene for Instagram, certainly. 

* * *

To: Phichit  
>> i think i did A Thing

From: Phichit  
>> have i ever told you how proud of you i am for you learning to to use capital letters in A Situation????  
>> okay but what did you do

To: Phichit  
>> picked up viktor nikiforov in front of the hotel and gave him a ride to the arena because he missed the shuttle and then drove off without actually talking to him and i’m sitting in an empty locker room on the wrong side of the stupid arena doing voice to text because i’m trying to take off my stupid contacts so i can skate and get changed into my practice clothes and this was probably a terrible thing to do and you should imagine that a terrible thing to do is capitalized because if i was actually texting it would be and   
>> sorry phone cut me off   
>> anyway now what do i do   
>> PHICHIT WHAT DO I DO ANSWER ME

From: Phichit  
>> so let me get this straight  
>> you gave your idol a ride to the stadium without him knowing it was you (which says a lot about him tbh) and then drove off and now you’re going to skate in the same arena as him and not talk to him because you’re you and you don’t do people very well   
>> did i get all of that?

To: Phichit  
>> yes. Yes you did

From: Phichit  
>> don’t phineas and ferb me, yuuri. TALK TO HIM

To: Phichit  
>> ABOUT WHAT

From: Phichit  
>> SKATING? YOU KNOW. THAT THING. YOU BOTH DO.

To: Phichit  
>> ugh nope no no way i’m going to finish getting changed and see you out there you’re lucky coach got you a pass

From: Phichit  
>> more like YOU’RE lucky coach got me a pass

To: Phichit  
>> ….yeah

* * *

Look, it wasn’t that Viktor didn’t like other skaters. He did! He liked Chris. And Yura. And Georgi, when he wasn’t crying. And Phichit (but everyone did, it was probably against the law to _not_ like Phichit) even if he didn’t know him. The point was that Viktor didn’t hate other skaters. That did _not_ mean that he knew all of them. 

That accounted for why he didn’t notice Yuuri start the warm up session late, gliding silently onto the ice to skate laps. That, and the fact that he was currently standing near the boards with Christophe, attempting to ply the man for information under the assumption that his friend actually knew who had been on the motorcycle. 

“Chris, if you know something you would tell me, _da_?” Viktor wheedled. “Whoever he was, he was so cool that even Yura didn’t have anything mean to say about him. And Yura has something mean to say about everyone!”

Christophe was ignoring Viktor in favor of speaking to his coach, so Viktor gave up to go bother Yuri about his mysterious savior, skating right past where Yuuri and Phichit were consulting with their coach. 

“Alright you two, I want you to spend time this morning working on your footwork and spins,” Celestino said quietly. Yuuri had competed at the Senior level for a few years now, but this was Phichit’s first time being eligible and qualifying - it was going to be a busy morning for everyone. “Don’t get caught up in the drama or showing off to people, alright?”

Phichit faked a gasp. “Why would you look at me when you said that?”

Without looking up from brushing ice flakes from his boots, Yuuri giggled. “Phichit Chulanont, I have three words for you: You. Attract. Trouble.”

“No I don’t!”

“Sure, and I’m Marlon Brando.”

Celestino cut in. “Boys! Footwork. Step sequences. Spins. Then cooldown the last ten minutes. Go, before I go find Yakov and ask for skater torture methods.”

Now _that_ was a real threat. Not that Yakov Feltsman actually tortured his skaters, but Team Russia wasn’t shy about posting their insane workouts on social media, and some of them made Yuuri’s arms hurt just by watching the videos. 

* * *

“Please welcome to the ice, Yuuri Katsuki of Japan. Skater Katsuki’s theme this year is ‘Noise’.”

“It’s an interesting choice, Andrew, but in interviews Katsuki has stated that he finds a lot of meaning and comfort in the music that has been traditionally considered glorified noise, His short program music choice was a collaboration between him and his sister, and chose ‘Limelight’ by Rush.”

“An interesting choice, to be sure. It makes you wonder what his sister is like, especially compared to the unapproachable Katsuki we see here today. And now, Yuuri Katsuki!”

(It wasn’t that interesting. It was just the music that he and Mari listened to in her room, just a little too loudly, while he played with Vicchan and she did homework. Or while he did homework and she played Solitaire. It was the soundtrack to their Saturday afternoon chores. Her Tuesday evening walks with Vicchan while Yuuri was at the studio until long after dark. It was _them_. But if the world wanted to think that he was giving the system a middle finger, then fine. He couldn’t stop that.)

From the section of the stands reserved for competitors, Yuri Plisetsky watched the older man skate with rapt attention and focus. Several times, Viktor or Yakov tried to ask him a question but he swatted them away wordlessly, while on the ice Yuuri flew through step sequences that appeared to barely touch the ice, threw himself into and then solidly landed a triple axel and ended with a series of spins that, in Yuri’s opinion, would leave a lesser man (Viktor) dizzy and puking. 

No one in the competitor’s section cheered as loudly as Yuri did, though Phichit Chulanont, from his spot by the boards, was a close second. 

“There goes your gold medal, old geezer,” he sneered at Viktor. Viktor, of course, didn’t have a response to this because he was staring open mouthed at Yuuri as he collected a poodle plushie and a white rose with the barest hint of a smile and sat stone faced in the Kiss and Cry with his coach, squinting (glaring?) at the monitor. 

When his scores came in and didn’t break the hundred point mark, Yuri let out a noise of disgust and screeched something unintelligible, prompting several other skaters to glare at him. 

“Whatthefuckever,” he muttered, before storming off to get ready for his off-ice warm up. He was about two skates too early, but it was better than sitting with people who clearly didn’t understand excellence when it hit them in the face with classic rock. 

* * *

That weekend ended with Viktor falling head over heels for the incredibly badass and terrifyingly hot (his words) Yuuri Katsuki while constantly sighing to Christophe and Georgi that it was a shame that he and Yuuri were so different and how awful it was to have fallen for someone who could never love you (Georgi may have started crying at that part), Yuuri taking home bronze from Skate America, and a very long rant on a tumblr that may or may not have been run by Yuri Plisetsky, breaking down every moment of the “history making” and “clearly more advanced than the fuckhead judges could process” free skate Yuuri had done to Muse’s Knights of Cydonia, and why his exhibition program to the London Orchestra’s version of Kashmir was obviously the best thing on the face of the planet. 

When someone caught Viktor looking longingly at Yuuri during the medal ceremony and then on the way to the press conference, Phichit laughed until he was crying while Yuuri buried his face in a plush poodle and swore that he was never leaving the apartment again. 

* * *

Yuuri and Viktor weren’t at the same events for the rest of the competition season, but that didn’t stop them from livestreaming the other’s skates, not that they knew what the other was doing. 

Yuuri huddled under a blanket, breathless, as he watched Viktor tear apart the competition with his programs, skating to the theme of “Spring”. Viktor placed first in both of his events. ( _Obviously_ , Yuuri thought. It would have been madness for anything else to happen.) Yuuri took a screenshot of Viktor mid jump and typed out a very long caption about the Russian’s skill and strength and how perfectly his costume, with its shades of pink and gray, fit the theme and the music and how if anyone could make Vivaldi interesting, it was him. He deleted the post.

Viktor curled up with his phone in the corner of the breakroom, absorbed in what was happening on the screen as he watched Yuuri place first at NHK, a scowling-without-any-real-malice Yuri standing in second while JJ pouted from third. He took a screenshot and posted it with several exclamation points, black and purple hearts, and smiley face emojis. Every single person that commented assumed he was congratulating his rink mate and Viktor didn’t correct them.

There also may or may not have been a video of Yuri Plisetsky nudging Yuuri Katsuki in the arm after the press conference and telling him that if he wanted to, he could get dinner with Yuri and Otabek, since they’re obviously the only three cool people at the competition at the moment. 

That may or may not have resulted in what sounded like Yuuri choking on his own saliva and muttering something about sponsor obligations before stalking off in the other direction, leaving Yuri standing there watching him leave before whispering “What the fuck why is he so cool?” before noticing there was a camera nearby and then growling at it.

It may or may not have made Viktor Nikiforov sigh like a lovesick teenager when he saw it. 

* * *

The Grand Prix Final was held in Hamilton, which meant that there was an excess of JJ Leroy posters everywhere, which Yuri Plisetsky started complaining about as soon as they had landed. He hadn’t made the Final, but was being brought along for the “experience”. As they sat in the taxi on their way to the official hotel, he scrolled through Instagram and nearly choked on air, which drew Viktor’s attention. 

“Yura? Are you alright? Let me see!” Viktor turned to his rinkmate, leaning forward to see across Yakov, who had decided to sit between them to stop them from “nitpicking each other and driving me further into my grave, Vitya - now stop complaining and _sit down!”_

Yuri recovered quickly and held his phone away from Viktor, toward the window. He hadn’t turned it around, however, and there was a picture from Phichit’s Instagram in the middle of the screen showing the Thai bundled up in a parka standing next to his roommate - his roommate _Yuuri Katsuki_ \- who was sitting on his motorcycle in his riding gear with his helmet under his arm and his hair slicked back. It looked like he was rolling his eyes at the camera. 

_I love my roommate, but he’s crazy!_ the post said. _Just because you CAN take your motorcycle three hours to a competition (IN. WINTER.) doesn’t mean you SHOULD! I think he’s just doing this to escape singing along to the King and the Skater with me though :( :( #bestfriend #phichuuri #whydoyounotlovemeyuuri #whatdidido_

The comments ranged between fans arguing over whether or not the musical was a good one, to wondering how anyone could live with skating’s resident Bad Boy or even consider him a friend, and several marriage proposals to Yuuri and many more to Phichit. 

The discovery of this post and the comments resulted in Viktor trying to take the phone from Yuri, Yuri screeching and trying to keep the phone from Viktor, Yakov sighing and sitting between them with his arms crossed, refusing to intervene, and Georgi in the front seat capturing the entire thing on a Snapchat story. 

In other words, it was a typical cab ride for the Russian team during competition season. 

* * *

This time, Viktor made it to the shuttle to the rink on time. Yuuri did as well, and was already sitting in the back of the bus with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, headphones blasting his music, leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed. No one was sitting next to him or behind him, and it seemed that no one was going to because the seats around him had filled up and there weren’t enough skaters between the men and the women to take every seat on the bus. Viktor sat closer to the front of the bus with Yuri next to him, with the excuse of turning around to talk to Christophe, but was really making idle small talk while watching Yuuri. Yuri would have said something about it, but he was doing the same thing while talking to Otabek so neither of them could really say anything about it without the pot calling the kettle black. 

“Where’s his rinkmate?” Yuri muttered irritably. 

As usual, Otabek answered as if they had actually started this conversation, rather than Yuri picking up in the middle of one out of the blue - he was a good friend like that. 

“Chulanont is sitting with Leo de Iglesia, and Celestino is at a coach’s meeting already,” he said quietly. There was no inflection or judgement, just statement of fact - another this Yuri appreciated about him. 

* * *

“Another excellent performance from Yuuri Katsuki of Japan. It may not break his personal best, but it certainly is a strong showing here at the Grand Prix Final. We’re down to two skaters here as we wind down with today’s short program. JJ Leroy is rinkside warming up for his skate as Christophe Giacometti circles the rink one last time before beginning his performance.”

* * *

Why was it so damn _cold_ in this rink? As a Russian, Viktor should have been immune to the cold, but he was making his way through the maze of hallways to the locker room anyway to grab another layer to put on underneath his favorite Team Russia jacket. As he wove through the rows of lockers - really, this place was just too _big_ \- he heard a voice a row over from his space and paused before opening the lock. 

“Aww, neechan, put him on again!” The voice sounded slightly accented and familiar, but not enough for Viktor to place it. “There you are! Such a good boy,” the voice cooed. “Who’s the best boy? You are! Yes, you are! See, I told you he understands English! Don’t make that face at me, that’s not nice.” There was a reply in… Japanese? Viktor’s insides turned to ice. Was that…

“I can’t wait to come see you! Did you miss me? Huh? Did you boy?” The voice was soft, and impossibly tender. “Oh, I love you so much. So much! Be nice to Marineechan, though, otherwise she won’t give you treats! Be my good boy, okay?” There was more in Japanese that washed over Viktor like so much noise, followed by footsteps and the slam of the locker room door falling shut. 

Each skater had been given his own row, since there was so much space. Grabbing his favorite hoodie, Viktor peeked around the corner of the lockers, and when he saw the coast was clear, approached the one locker that had a row of tape with a name on it. 

Katsuki, Y. 

_What?_

For good measure, he opened the locker and… there it was. A black leather jacket, hanging up next to where a bag with the JSF logo was stuffed into the small space. 

Recently, Viktor had discovered (and then thoroughly researched) the term _cinnamon roll_ as it applied to people. He had also discovered that the internet collectively referred to Yuuri Katsuki as a _sinnamon roll_ , meaning that he was their - according to Phichit Chulanont - “small, badass son”. 

Did this mean the _sinnamon roll_ was actually a _sweet cinnamon roll_ , and not the bad boy Viktor had fallen for? 

He felt a headache coming on. What was _happening?_

* * *

He was determined to get answers, and after spending the next day and a half in quiet contemplation, the Banquet had provided him with the perfect space to do so. As the gold medalist, he was expected to attend, and since Yuuri had won bronze, he was there as well. (Christophe had placed second and while Viktor would normally congratulate his friend effusively, he was a little distracted)

After making his rounds with the officials and the sponsors, and ensuring that Yuri had been foisted off onto Yakov and was suitably distracted, he made his way over to where Yuuri was standing with Sara Crispino and leaned slightly over his shoulder. 

“I know your secret,” he whispered. 

Yuuri jolted and turned around while Sara giggled and made her excuses, going off to find her brother. When they were face to face, Yuuri’s eyes widened and he turned an alarming shade of white, then bright red, and coughed lightly. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said firmly. 

Oh yes, it was definitely him. 

Viktor grinned and leaned in closer. “Tell me, _Yuuuuuri_ , how do you have the entire world convinced that you’re the Bad Boy of Figure Skating when I heard you cooing over the phone in the locker room as though you were about to melt into a puddle, hmm? I’d like to know what caused that to happen.” _And how I can get you to melt in entirely different, very intimate circumstances._

Yuuri opened his mouth and closed it again, and for a moment Viktor worried that his mouth had run away with him as it so often did and he had said that last part out loud. 

“I’mnotabadboy.” The words were rushed.

“Come again?” 

Something about that phrase set Yuuri on edge, and Viktor was desperate to know why. 

“I’m not a bad boy,” he said quietly, just above a whisper. “I just… don’t like talking to people.”

Viktor looked at him curiously. “And the jacket?”

“James Dean movie fan.”

“The motorcycle?”

“More cost effective than a car.”

“Rock music?”

“Blame my sister.” Yuuri paused. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I mean… you’re _Viktor Nikiforov_. You’re like, the god of skating. You’re my- I mean, you’re amazing. I look up to you. Everyone does.”

Viktor chuckled. “Not everyone.”

It was Yuuri’s turn to look confused. “What does that mean?”

“If you ever tell anyone, I may have to kill you, but my rinkmate Yuri Plisetsky thinks you’re the greatest thing since rock music and leopard print,” he said with a conspiratorial wink. “Apparently he offered to hang out with you, and you turned him down, and he’s been going on about how cool and aloof you are ever since.”

Yuuri blanched. “He… what? I did what? I- Oh god, Phichit and Coach are going to kill me. I’m really sorry if I offended him I just… Like I said. I don’t do well around people.”

“You seem to do well enough around me.”

“Well… Okay, I’ve got nothing to say to that one.”

Viktor wanted to laugh out loud. Yuuri was positively _delightful_. How was someone so distant so personable and, frankly, adorable? “So, Yuuri, who were you talking to on the phone?”

Yuuri looked around, and then shook his head. “Not here. C’mon.”

 _I would follow you anywhere_. And there went his brain again, potentially running away with him, but luckily Viktor kept silent. He did follow Yuuri out into the hall, the pair setting their champagne glasses down on a tray by the door. Winding through hallways, they found their way to the courtyard and Yuuri pulled out his phone, swiping across the screen several times. 

“I-,” he sighed. “If you tell anyone, I may have to kill _you,”_ Yuuri smirked (and looked damn good doing it). “I was talking to my dog.”

He held out the phone, and Viktor immediately cradled it in his hands, cooing at the picture of the miniature poodle. 

“You can swipe through,” Yuuri grumbled in the direction of his feet. “It’s an album of just him.”

Viktor did so with enthusiasm, looking at pictures of the dog sleeping, sitting down, doing tricks, more pictures of him sleeping, several of him at the beach, and then-

“Is this you?” he crowed. There was the poodle, alright, in the arms of a Yuuri who looked several years younger, and had messy hair and blue glasses. “I didn’t know you wear glasses!”

Yuuri took the phone back and shoved it in his pocket. “I normally don’t - I can’t with my motorcycle helmet. And obviously you can’t when you’re skating.”

Leaning against a tree, Viktor looked at him consideringly. “And when you’re on your motorcycle?” 

“Contacts.”

“Skating?”

“Neither.”

So that was why he was always squinting… Viktor found everything that Yuuri did adorable, and nothing more so than when he was looking anywhere but in Viktor’s eyes, running his hand through his gelled back hair and accidentally dislodging several strands. 

“I know what it’s like,” he said quietly, “to have a public image you have to maintain. It can be exhausting, sometimes. All you want to do is go up to people and tell them that they don’t know you, that they have you all wrong, and you can’t be reduced to something that fits in so many pixels or so many words on a page. To have people see only one side of you and not realize that you are a multi-faceted person, like them.”

Yuuri stepped closer and nodded, finally looking Viktor in the eye for just a few seconds and then looking away. “Yeah, you’re right. But at least this keeps people out of my personal space, you know?”

Viktor stepped forward, very much into Yuuri’s personal space. “Do you want to keep everyone out?”

Looking up, Yuuri caught his eye, brown meeting blue for a prolonged second before he looked away - at… was he looking at Viktor’s lips? Oh god, Viktor wanted, he _wanted_ so badly. 

“Not everyone.”

Yuuri smelled like champagne and cologne and… him. Something that was completely, undefinably _Yuuri_. 

“I don’t know anything about motorcycles,” Viktor whispered. 

“I can teach you.”

“I might not be ‘badass’ enough to mesh with scary, motorcycle riding Katsuki Yuuri who intimidates everyone. I like soft sweaters. And dogs. And-”

Yuuri looked him in the eye again, not looking away this time. “And?”

“And you.”

It wasn’t really a matter of who kissed who first, just that they finally _were_ , standing in the hotel courtyard, Yuuri’s hand on his cheek while the other encircled his waist, Viktor’s hands tangled in the hair at the nape of Yuuri’s neck. 

After what felt like hours, Yuuri pulled away slightly, panting. “I really should go apologize to your rinkmate.”

Viktor grinned. “You can do that tomorrow. But for right now, I’m not letting you go.” _Not ever_. 

**Author's Note:**

> yuri definitely has the worst 'i wanna be friends with you or BE you idk' crush on yuuri.  
> viktor really was that oblivious  
> phichit really is a little shit like that  
> there was definitely a conversation later about 'why did you get on the back of a motorcycle IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW WHO IT WAS' 'yuuri don't be ridiculous of course i recognized you as my true love' 'yura told me you didn't even know who was on the bike' 'irrelevant' 'oh my GOD vitya'


End file.
